Hothouse Flower
by NytBloomer
Summary: A coming-of-age story Vampire: the Dark Ages style! Set in Jordan in the mid 12th century. Chap. 1 is up, more to come!


Author's note:  All the characters in **this** chapter belong to ME.  Vampire: the Dark Ages and all things associated therewith belong to White Wolf.  In consecutive chapters, characters **may** belong to other people besides me!

Hothouse Flower

Chapter I: Serve The Shame

    How well I remember my homeland.  Then, as now, it seemed idealized, like something out of a beautiful dream.  Of course, the last time I saw it was with the eyes of a child…and do things not always seem more perfect when we are young?

    I lived in the fine city of Aqaba, by the Red Sea.  It was an oasis of beautiful green and blue, plants and clear ocean water.  Many people came to Aqaba, sailors, merchants, Bedouins, infidels.  Most of the people who lived in Aqaba at all times were fishermen, merchants, or craftsmen.  Such was the case with my father.

    He was a blacksmith, and a devout, modest man.  Those who could work metal were often held in awe by those who could not; there was something…magical about the way that a shapeless piece of metal could be formed with deft strikes into a knife, a horseshoe, or a door hinge; such different things out of the same lump.  

    My father especially was held in respect.  He was, so the stories went, the finest blacksmith for a hundred miles in any direction.  Those who thought well of him said he could make a kettle from a piece of stone.  He always just smiled and said "only if the stone had enough ore in it."

    So my family was able to live in prosperity and freedom, my father, my mother, my three brothers and my little sister Fairuz.

    I had two older sisters who I had seen married off in their time, and as I grew up I too dreamed of marrying a good, devout man who would provide well for me and give me many children of my own.  It seemed to me, and indeed to my parents, there was no reason why this should not happen.

    You see, I had always been a very pretty child, and had been told so often, but never to the point of vanity.  My mother had told me that my appearance was a gift from Allah, "to remind those on earth what heaven is like." 

    But in my tenth year I began blossoming, much like a flower in a window box will bloom before its' kinfolk outside in the cold.   And men's thoughts, when seeing a ripe young girl, are seldom of things divine.

    But I thought nothing of this apparent change in me.  I had seen my two older sisters change thusly at about the same age, and thought it merely a peculiarity of our family.  And so I went along as a normal girl of my age, not knowing what went on behind the eyes of those who looked at me.

    In the summer of my twelfth year, when my blossoming had burst into full bloom, the Infidel Lord of our city, whose name I never bothered to learn, sent his servant to hire my father.  It seemed that His Lordship was having a fine new house built, and wanted beautifully worked ornamental hinges for all the many doors and shutters.

    Since it would mean that my family would eat very well that winter, my father agreed.  He worked very hard all that spring on the many hinges, assuring that each one was a perfect masterpiece of the smith's art.  

    When summer came and the doors were ready to be put up, the Lord sent his own son to come and fetch them, not trusting any servant with such precious goods.

    The young man was handsome in a spoiled and over-brushed way, much like a prized goat or a pet cat.  He was arrogant and a bit rude to my father, but my father didn't heed his ill behavior, and merely showed him the hinges, of which the young lord approved.

    "Freeman, I wouldst stay in thy home this night." The young lord said after seeing the hinges. "For thy work is fair and valuable, and I wouldst not take it on the road 'til the morrow, lest I be set on by robbers."

    My father, being a good and devout Muslim, would not refuse any man lodgings for the night, not even the son of an infidel.   My mother, being of the same mind, made a fine meal for our guest, as my family only saw during the sacred month of Ramadan.  And so the young lord ate our best food, and went to sleep in my parents' bed.

    One would think that was where this part of the story ended.  One would think that the young lord went home the next day with his hinges, and that I went on to marry and have many children of my own, as was my dream.  One would be entirely wrong.

    It was near midnight that night, and I was asleep with my little sister Fairuz curled up next to me.  Suddenly, I awoke.  I felt something cold and sharp pressed to my throat, and a large hand over my mouth.

    "Do as I say, wench" said a voice I recognized as that of the young lord "and make no sound, or I shall slay thy family."

    I nodded to indicate that I would do as he said.  I had no idea what he intended, I only knew that I must keep my family safe.  I could not stand the thought of my parents, brothers and beloved little sister bleeding their last on the floor at the hands of this beast.

    And so, he threw me over his shoulder like I was a sack of flour.  He gathered up the hinges and put them in his saddlebags, and rode away with the hinges and me.

    The night was dark, but warm with a pleasant breeze.  The stars were shining, and had I not been afraid for my life, I likely would have enjoyed being out in it.  

    The young lord stopped far from the city, off the road, where no people lived, and no Bedouins or caravans were camped that night.  He threw me to the ground, and I struck my head hard upon the unyielding earth.

    I could hear the ripping of my clothes as he roughly tore them from my body.  I remember the pain, as he took my chastity and used me roughly, for what seemed an agonizing eternity.  That pain was all that kept me conscious as my head swam from the bump and from the blood I was losing from the harsh way he was wounding me.

    I saw the sky pink jus a bit above the distant mountains, and could barely hear the first birds waking.  After a last groan, the beast stood, and sheathed his weapon.  He kicked me before he went away, as if I had been a dog that displeased him.  He said not a word, but merely mounted his horse and rode away.  I closed my eyes, and knew no more for some time.

    When I came back to myself, it was mid-morning, and I could only hope it was mid-morning of the same day.  There I lay in the green wilderness I had thought so beautiful once, my clothing torn beyond recognition, and my own blood watering the plants.

    I tried to stand, but found myself unable to walk due to the pain of the wounds the young beast had given me.  So, clutching my clothing together as best I could, I crawled through the wilderness towards my father's house.

    It took me all day to get through that beautiful wild place, and I was wet, haggard and white as a ghost by the time I reached my father's doorstep.  I managed to pound on the door before I sank back into oblivion.

    When I awoke, I was back in my own bed, washed and dressed, my head bandaged and the bleeding from my wounds stilled.  My mother and father stood over me.  I could see the redness in my mother's eyes, and the streaks down her face of her tears. My father's face was a mask of stone, and he held my mother close to him.

    "Father…" I whispered, still very weak from my ordeal. "Mother…" 

    I attempted to sit up and comfort my distraught mother, but when I moved, the world spun before my eyes and I was forced to lay down again.

    For some time, I was confined to my bed, tended always by my mother or my little sister, Fairuz.  

    At first, I drifted in and out of sleep, my head still swimming from the bump and the loss of blood.  As if in a dream, I heard my mother and father arguing.

    "I told you we ought to have made her cover herself more!" my father said, his voice cracking with sorrow and shame.  

    "She's too young for the veil! She's but a child!  And her sisters never were veiled until they were older than her, almost ready to marry! And no ill came to them!"

    "She does not have the body of a child, and men do not think her a child when they look at her.  With so many infidels around we cannot be too careful!  From now on she shall be veiled!"

    "I will NOT permit it!" my mother said stubbornly, her voice breaking with the release of her tears. "She will not be punished more!"

    Then my dream passed on to less pleasant things, and I awoke sweating and trembling. 

On the second day of my long confinement, at least the second day I was fully aware of, I heard my father and brothers arguing.

    "He has ruined our sister!" my eldest brother, nearly of an age to be married, said hotly. "He must be made to pay for that!"

My two other brothers growled agreement, but my father nay-said them. "No my sons.  Such as he…is beyond our means to punish.  I would not lose another of my children to the whims of the lord's son.  No, I will write to his father, petitioning him and see what may be done."

I knew then that all would be well.  My father was a lettered man, and could express himself well in words.  Surely if he wrote to the young beast's father, he would be shamed into making some reparation, and perhaps some good would come to my family from my misfortune.

Soon after, my mother came in to bring me my meal, and talk to me.  She sat the bowl of goat stew on my lap, and I began to eat, listening to her words.

"My child, your father is writing to the lord of the city, and will petition him to force his son to do the proper thing." She said gently.

"What proper thing?" I asked, curiously.  I did not know that I was despoiled…for I had never yet been told what that meant, and did not know that it was my father's intention to marry me off to this monster.

"Since the young lord has known you, my dear, it is right that he should take you to wife." My mother replied.

I dropped the wooden spoon into the bowl in utter shock.  _Marry_ that horrible young beast?  I began to cry loudly, so great was my distress.

"I will NOT marry him!" I screamed, every fiber of my being rebelling. "I never want to see that monster again!"

The very thought of marrying him, of being forced to be near him ever again, was horrifying to me.  And it dawned on me what had truly happened to me…that if I was his wife, it would be my duty to submit to such treatment as often as he saw fit.  Death seemed preferable, and in fact, still does…but that, we will come to later.

My mother tried to soothe me, stroking my hair and speaking softly unto me.  But I was inconsolable.  It seemed to me the most abominable thing that I should be forced to relive my trauma each day of my life.  But my father and mother were determined that I should not be wholly ruined, and should at least have a husband out of this, even if he was an infidel.

I slept much during those days, weeping often to exhaustion.  I prayed often to Allah to spare me from this horrible fate.  I did not know until later if my father ever got an answer to his letter, or of what nature the answer was, for my parents did not speak of it.

As a few weeks passed, and I was healed of my injuries of the body, and heard no more word of marriage to the lord's monstrous son, I thought that surely Allah had answered my sorrowful prayers.

So, when I was able, I took the water bucket from its' hook, and went to the well in the square near our house to fetch water for the family, as I had often done before the events of that painful night.

I clad myself modestly, covering my figure with a large shawl, and my hair with one of my mother's veils.  I did not want any man to see the form of my body, for it seemed to me that if no man saw me, they would not be inspired to lust, and to do more harm to me.

But despite my precautions, I was seen and recognized.  I had thought that if any of the women or children of the neighborhood saw me, that they would have pity on me, thinking I had been injured by more normal means…for such things as had happened to me were not spoken of. 

However, that was not the case.  As I walked, I heard whispers from those around me.  People were not willing to look me in the eye, or even, it seemed, to directly cast their gaze on me.  Suddenly, I heard someone, I knew not who, shout "Whore!" and then I felt a stone hit my arm.  More people took up the cry, and stones came at me from many directions at once.

I fled, running as fast as my legs could carry me, dropping shawl and bucket in my haste.  I was bruised and battered with stones by the time I got home, much to the despair of my parents.

"He has done it then, my husband!" My mother cried, upon hearing my tale.

"Yes, my dear wife.  The high-born dog has done as he said."

"What, what has he done?" I asked, panicking.  I was as afraid as I had been on the night I spent alone in the wilderness with the young monster.  Never had I imagined that the people of the town would turn against me so.  Suddenly, I felt shamed, and wondered in my heart if what had happened to me was my fault, and if I truly was a whore.

"Do not be afraid, my child." My father said, sitting me down by the kitchen fire. "The lord has sought to punish you, for his son told him you seduced him."

I began to weep, for I could hear the shame in my father's voice.  How dare that…misborn son of a pig punish me, and shame my family so?   HE should be the one who was ashamed!  His precious goat of a son had ravaged _me_!

"Do not cry, dear." My mother added, putting a tender arm around me. "Your father and I have been discussing things, in case this very thing should come to pass.  It seems we have but one choice.  We are going to take you to a nunnery, in Jerusalem.  Then you may have a vocation, and not be reduced to beggary…"

I heard my mother choke, and she sniffled and gasped as if holding back a flood of tears.

"And also you will be safe, my child, from the consternation and stones of the people here." My father said, I think as much for my mother as for me.  

"Why should I have to be locked away? Why should I be forced to live as an infidel?" I asked, still weeping. "I am not the sinner!  Why should I be forced into a life of penance, when HE is the one who has done the crime?"

"You are not being put into a life of penance, my child." My father assured me. "You are being taken to a life of safety, free from shame and far from the power of this dark man.  And remember what the sacred Koran says about the very Jesus that the infidels call Christ."

"He was a good man, a holy man and a teacher." I replied, my tears slowing a bit.

"Indeed my daughter." My father said gently. "And the very god the infidels serve IS Allah, but they have corrupted the true teachings of the Prophets.  Take what they will offer, my child, and remember in your heart what is true."

I was comforted for a time by my father's words.  In fact, all that autumn I felt a strange peace.  My parents sent messages to the convents in Jerusalem, seeing which would take me in.  The Convent of Saints Lazarus, Margaret and Mary, it turned out, could take me in immediately.

And so, Father put saddles on our two strong camels, and rode with me down and across the Jordan River, and over the land between Aqaba and Jerusalem.  Thusly, I was taken from the home of my childhood, to the place that would be my prison for four long years.

The sense of peace I had felt during my time of waiting evaporated quickly.  Life as a nun was difficult, and I was forced to work from before sunrise till after dusk, pausing only for food, prayer and other necessities.

I also felt very alone.  No others at the convent were as young as myself for the first few years, and many of them were not kind to me.  

The reason was rather apparent; many of these women were obviously ones who could not find a husband due to being barren or just ugly. I could see the envy and hatred burning in their eyes when they looked at me.  They began to call me Sister Munah Magdeline when those who would object were not around.

So it went, the ridicule and punishment through exhausting labor, for over three years.  Though the ridicule continued after that, I had a respite from some of my labor during my third year.

The choir mistress, who was one of the gentler souls in the place, heard me singing as I worked.  I sang, because if I looked sorrowful or petulant, I was frequently reported to my superior and beaten.  Singing made me at least appear happy, and made me forget, in part, what I was doing and why.

So, upon hearing my voice, the choir mistress took it upon herself to put choir practice into my schedule.  It was long and tedious, and often as exhausting as other labor, but at least in the music I was able to forget.

We sang daily at the Mass, and especially on Holy Days such as Christmas, Easter, and the Saints' Days.  It was at one of these Holy Day services, the midnight mass on Christmas Eve to be precise, that my lot in life began to change.

I was in the choir with many other sisters, just another form in black and white, I thought.  But as I sang, I began to feel a pair of eyes on me.  I searched the audience, looking for those eyes.  

Then I saw him.  At first I thought that an angel had blessed the church.  He was so very beautiful, and seemed to be almost surrounded by light.  I knew at once that in all my dreams of a fine husband, this man had been the one I dreamed of.

I kept singing, even though tears came to my eyes unbidden.  I knew I could never be the wife of this wondrous man.  Even if I was not a nun, sworn to eternal chastity and loneliness, he would never take me as his own.  I was a ruined woman, deflowered and despoiled.

The concert ended, and I went back to the cloisters with the other sisters.  The memory of that man burned in my dreams.  For the next weeks I thought of nothing but him, and could not help but wonder if he thought of me as well.

One night, close to the beginning of spring, I had a particularly vivid dream.  In my dream, the angelic man was calling to me; his dark hair full of starlight and his eyes burning like smoldering coals.

I awoke, suddenly unable to resist the urge to dress and go outside the convent…to answer his call.  Faster than I would have thought possible, I donned my vestments, and ran hot-foot down to the courtyard, where in my dream the man had been waiting for me.

And, much to my amazement, there he was!   It was just as I had dreamed it.  He stood by the gate to the outside world, his arms outstretched to me, the wind blowing his dark starlight-filled hair, and that same light seemed to surround him.

Without a second thought, I ran to him, laying my head upon his chest, and closing my eyes as I felt him fold his arms around me.

"Oh if this is a dream, may I never wake up." I said quietly, praying to Allah, in whom my heart still believed, that it was not so.

"Munah, my love" the wonderful man said softly, pulling off my veil and caressing my long hair. "I have felt your sorrow.  Even in songs of praise, it comes out in your voice."

"I…hate this place." I admitted, trying very hard not to cry.

"Come with me then, my love.  You will suffer no more, and you and I will be together for ever." 

I looked up into those smoldering eyes, and found the questions of my mind dying on my lips.  "Who are you?" I barely managed to murmur.

"I am your savior, but you should call me Aldin." He replied, smiling down at me gently.

I nodded, the last of my resistance swept up in an overwhelming feeling of love for this marvelous man who was going to set me free, and take me as his own.

Without another word, he took me from that horrible prison, and together we went to his fine house on the outskirts of Jerusalem.

By that time, the night was growing old, and the sun would rise in less than an hour.  Aldin's servants closed the curtains of all the windows, and departed, bowing, to their own quarters.

I was still lost in wonder, of Aldin, his house, my freedom, the future danced before me.  Then Aldin took me by the hand to a beautiful bedroom, and laid me down upon a soft, beautiful bed, finer than any I had slept on in all my life.

The room was pitch-black, and I could not see Aldin, but I felt him as he slid onto the bed next to me, and kissed me.  I had often thought of what would happen if any man touched me again.  I thought for certain I would stiffen up, or scream, or run in terror.  

But I did none of those things.  I melted into his arms, caressing his face and hair, and returning his kisses with ardor that surprised me.

We kissed for what seemed like a passionate eternity, but was probably only a few minutes.  Then I felt his lips move over my neck, and…the most surprising thing.  An odd, but sublime, sort of ecstasy, such as I had never even imagined, washed over me.  I clung to him with every part of my body, unable to shake that divine feeling of bliss, even as I sensed my life slipping away.

As my vision began to blur, and my head to feel very light, he stopped that ecstatic Kiss, and instead put his lips to mine.

As he kissed me, I felt some sort of sweet elixir flow from him through my parted lips.  After a moment, I felt newly invigorated, and held to him with new strength, drawing more and more of that precious fluid from his lips.

Finally, he pulled away from me, and licked his lips sensuously.  I felt a sudden drowsiness, as if I was drunk to the point of sleep.  I saw Aldin lay back down next to me, and felt him enfold me in his arms before sleep overcame me.

The next evening, I awoke to a wholly different world.  The colors of the exquisite bedchamber seemed to burst out at me, even in the candlelight.  The smell of the subtle perfumes worn by the servants, even the smell of the servants themselves was so much more keen and sharp to my senses.

And the thirst! Oh, that first thirst!  It pricked me like needles, and burned like a fire.  Aldin looked at me, and smiled tenderly.  He was different too, but all the more fine and beautiful, with a rich, enticing smell finer than any I had yet smelled, and every strand of his black hair seemed alive in the slight breeze.

"You thirst, my love?" he asked gently.  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.  I did not know what this feeling of horrible thirst was, nor how to still it.  Aldin, of course, had the answers.

He rang a bell, and a fine, stocky lad, probably not more that fifteen, came into the room.  He bowed gracefully to Aldin, and then to me.

"Go and greet your new mistress, Abram." Aldin told the youth.  

Without hesitation, the charming boy sat by my side, and offered me his perfectly formed wrist. I looked over at Aldin, feeling in my heart what I should do, but not daring to believe it without some confirmation.

"Quench your thirst, my love." He said tenderly, coming to sit by my other side and wrap an arm around me.

Without further instruction, I took the boy's wrist in my hands, and brought it to my mouth.  That first taste of human life was…indescribable.  It was as if I could feel all his youth and vitality coursing through the small wounds I had made, into my mouth, strengthening me.  The boy moaned as if in tremendous pleasure, and I watched him, his eyes closed, his brow sweating a little as he leaned against my knee, feeling, for all appearances, much as I had felt the night before.  After a few moments, Aldin stopped me.

"That is enough, my love." He said with a pleased smile. "If you take too much, we shall not have Abram to kiss again.  The same is true of all who quench your thirst.  Take but a little, enough to satisfy you and please them greatly, so that you may have the pleasure of their taste on some other night."

So I licked up the last drops of blood from Abram's dear wrist, and smiled at him.  I did not know the word "vampire", for the Muslim people were not superstitious like the infidels, and told no such dark stories.  I only knew that I was different.

"What has happened to me, Aldin my love?" I asked, leaning back so he could cradle me in his arms.

"Ah…my darling" he began, kissing my temple and my forehead. "that is a very complicated question, the answer of which you will only start to learn tonight."

And so we lived a while in Jerusalem, long enough for me to begin to learn about my new life, and words such as "Kindred" and "Toreador", to define myself, and words such as "Ventrue" "Lasombra" and "Setite" to define others of our kind, but not quite the same.

It was not safe for us to linger long in Jerusalem, however.  The sisters of the convent were searching for me, wanting to bring me back.  When we heard that their searching was leading them towards our area, we took our servants and goods, and rode in caravan down the trade routes.

The trip was longer than it ought to have been, due to encounters with bandits and Bedouin tribes along the way.  Bandits, however, make for good meals, and may be killed with impunity…since it is, after all, self-defense.

Eventually we came to my home-town of Aqaba.  I wished to go see my parents, but Aldin forbade it.  He said that my parents would sense the change in me, and also that they would try to send me back to the convent.

So we stayed in Aqaba for a few seasons, never venturing to the parts of the city that I had known, but staying in places where much finer people stayed; wealthy merchants, captains of great ships, traveling nobility.

It was then that I was able to purge my soul of all that had happened.  Aldin and I were sitting together in a brothel, simply watching the people and marveling at the varied beauty of them and their clothing and jewelry.  I was looking towards the door, enjoying the constant spectacle of people coming and going, when I saw an all-too-familiar face.

It was the son of the infidel lord of the city, now a few years older and doubtless married.  My expression darkened, and my eyes blazed like fire as I watched him order a drink and begin to peruse the lovely women.

I growled low in my throat, and Aldin put a hand on my shoulder. "Be calm, my love.  What is it?" he asked with his usual gentleness.

"He was the one." I replied, gesturing at my ravager.  Aldin needed me to say no more.  He knew my past, and the desires of my heart.  

"Be wary my dear" he warned me "and do not take him here."

I nodded, and walked gracefully to the door.  All eyes in the room were on me as I walked, including his.  I had come to enjoy this feeling, rather than dread it.  I looked at the infidel goat, and gestured for him to follow me.  I trusted my ability, and did not look to see if he followed me.

I walked into an empty alley near the brothel, and waited for my prey.  Soon he came walking towards me. His eyes were glazed and his expression blank.  I wondered for a moment if I looked that way when Aldin had called me.  I opened my arms to him, and he came into my embrace.

Within seconds, my teeth were in him, and I was draining out his life.  When he was suitably weakened, I quickly kicked and pummeled him to death, tore his clothes and stole his purse so it would look to any who found him that he had been set upon by robbers.  He already smelled of wine, so it would be easy to believe that he was killed while drunk.

Not long after that, Aldin and I decided that a change of scenery was in order.  Yes, Aqaba had a constantly changing menu of strangers, some beautiful, but a port town was hardly the place to find true beauty in any form.  We decided to make our way to Damascus, the former capital of the Infidels' Kingdom of Jerusalem.

So it came to pass that we made our way to Damascus.  But the journey had been strained.  I could not help but notice Aldin's constant attention to women we met along the way, mostly the fair, if rough, daughters of the Bedouins.  He seemed continually displeased with me, in my dress, my appearance, my manners, my way of speaking.

I tried my best to please him, because I knew in my heart that if I did not he would tire of me, and I would be left alone in a strange place.  But it was not enough.

I woke up one night, just outside of Damascus, to find myself alone.  The moon was well-risen, and apparently I had slept longer than usual.  But the camels, the servants, and Aldin were all gone.  All that I found was a note:

_I had thought you a desert flower, a bird in a stone cage.  But now I know you are nothing but another low-born wench.  I would not have you now even for a servant.  May eternity bring you refinement._

I screamed and cried and rent my clothes in grief.  I thought he loved me.  I thought that if I tried hard enough, he would not do this!  Suddenly, my tears stopped and my grief turned to anger.

_How dare he do this to me?_ I thought, my teeth clenched in rage.  _I loved him, and gave my life to him!  How dare he abandon me!_

It was then I made a resolution, which I have kept to this day. No more would I be a victim of my beauty.  No more would I be the innocent, and let others take advantage of me as they would.  I would be the master.  I would use my beauty and apparent innocence to my advantage, and never again be ruled or ill-used by anyone.

_From the memoirs of Munah al Aqaba___


End file.
